Second Chance
by FyreBrande
Summary: Collection of one-shots about my Irene Cousland and Nathaniel Howe. T for some language and violence, that kinda stuff.
1. Practice Makes Perfect

**This isn't so much a straight up multi chapter fic like Aftermath and Absence as it is a whole bunch of one-shots that follow the same canon. Irene is my second favorite Warden(who ends up with my favorite Dragon Age man *cough*Yes, still). I put all these up on my deviantART account, but felt like they should be here, too. I love Irene just as much as I love Rahna. These will be much more hit and miss with when they show up, as most of my inspiration for their stories comes from art trades/commissions/requests that I get of my favorite couple(Couple, Rahna, not character!). :D They'll be pretty much in order, but there may be a few points when I hop backwards on the timeline. Don't worry, I'll note at the top when I do that, to avoid confusion.**

Practice Makes Perfect

...

_"No! I won't let you die either!"_

_"Ah, my love. You say that as if I'm giving you a choice."_

_oOo_

The dreams were back with a vengence. Irene nearly swore as she shoved her bangs off her forehead, the sweaty brown strands clinging to her hand before sticking out in a multitude of directions.

"Andraste's flaming sword, I'd rather dream about darkspawn," the Warden Commander muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing as the memory of their last kiss assaulted her, the taste of sheer, fierce, desperate sorrow making her lips tingle. She shook her head and groaned, turning her gaze to the window.

The faintest hints of pink and gold were playing peekaboo over the horizon, but it was otherwise dark. Irene knew from months of experience that she wouldn't be getting back to sleep after a dream like _that_. Her eyes fell upon the greatsword in the corner of her room, and after a brief argument with herself about making a racket at this hour-even if she couldn't sleep didn't mean she should make it equally impossible for the others-she shoved back the blanket and crossed the room to pull on the leather armor she used for practice and snatch up her sword.

The creaking door managed to wake Kell, and the mabari whined softly. "Come on, boy," Irene whispered, allowing the dog to follow her. His stubby tail wagged as he padded almost silently after his mistress down to the training area.

She needed this. For more reasons than one, and Irene tried to convince herself this practice was more because her form was getting sloppy than because she desperately needed to hit _something_. _After all, I nearly decapitated Anders rather than the darkspawn I was aiming for in those tunnels yesterday,_ she reminded herself, shuddering at the memory. Her strike had been just a hair too wild, and if it passed an inch from the mage's neck, it certainly hadn't been any more. She'd been distracted, and her control over the strike had slipped. Irene grimaced and focused on dragging out the practice dummies.

oOo

She'd been at it two hours, Kell watching silently from the corner, before she was interrupted just before unleashing a devastating critical strike upon the poor dummy that had been the main recipient of her frustration this morning.

"Commander."

Irene halted her strike mid-swing, and turned to chide the man, panting from the exertion of the last two hours. "Nathaniel, how many times do I have to tell you; you _can_ call me Irene? We go far enough back for that."

A small smile pulled at the corners of the archer's mouth, but he didn't comment on the gentle reprimand. "I've been looking for you."

Irene _tried_ to focus more on regulating her erratic breathing than the way her stomach flipped at that statement. _Honestly, Irene, I'm sure he didn't mean it like __**that**__. What are you; a lovestruck fifteen year old?_ Ever since she recruited the man, he'd been making her heart do the same odd twist whenever he spoke to her. Even before she found Delilah for him. At that point, these feelings had been an annoyance. Now they were an honest-to-goodness _problem_. "Oh?" She let the greatsword's point drop to the ground and wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her other hand. "What for?"

Nathaniel took in the state of the practice dummy with barely a raised eyebrow. "I was wondering where we were going next."

"Now that we've solved the problems in Kal Hirol, I was planning on leaving for the Wending Woods after we'd eaten."

"Indeed?" He eyed the practice dummy again and smiled. "I suppose you've been busy working up an appetite then, Commander?"

_I give up._ She shrugged, her breathing finally slowing. "Well, practice makes perfect, so they say."

He walked closer. "Surely you aren't_ that _bad."

She snorted. "You must not have seen me nearly behead Anders yesterday. I've gotten sloppy; I need to control my strikes better."

"I _meant_ surely you're not so bad as to be driven to practice at absurdly early hours simply because you believe your skill to be lacking." He raised one eyebrow when she didn't reply. "I believe there's more to this then simply 'practice makes perfect', _Irene_."

Her head snapped up when he used her name. "How'd you get so bloody perceptive? Am I really that easy to read?"

oOo

"It's a talent," he commented dryly, earning a small smile from her. Maker, she was hard on herself. He could see it in her eyes; she really thought she needed to be perfect; perfect with that sword, perfect at hiding when she was hurting, perfect at soldiering on, perfect at being The Commander. "So what else had you out here-before the sun, if I guess correctly-taking out an inordinant amount of frustration on a practice dummy? And I do mean besides believing practice makes perfect."

Irene let out a wry chuckle. "I'm going to just stop trying to hide anything from you, Nate." She raked her fingers through her hair. "I...dreamt about Fort Drakon. The final battle." Her eyes closed. "Alistair."

Nathaniel could read the warning in her near-broken tone. She never talked much about the time she'd spent fighting the Blight, and even less about the last battle in Denerim, but from the little she had said-and the few things Oghren had let slip when drunk out of his mind-he knew enough to put the pieces together. Enough to know to either tread carefully or avoid this path altogether. "I see. And that's what brought you out here hours before anyone else would even be stirring."

"I can't sleep after those," she admitted, her gaze dropping and her voice barely more than a whisper. "I know from experience." She pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture he recognized from when she was younger, a sure sign of inner turmoil.

Seeing her suddenly so vulnerable may have been what made him step closer and rest one hand on her shoulder. "You know you don't have to carry so much alone, Irene."

oOo

"Who's going to want to help me, Nate?" She looked up at him, eyes full of past hurt. "You?"

"If you need me to, yes," he replied softly.

_Maker, he's standing so bloody close. It's sodding distracting. Focus, Irene, focus_. Irene fought back the persistent thoughts as she looked at Nathaniel. "Really?" She was so tired of carrying everything on her shoulders. She was a strong woman, stronger than most, but even she had limits.

oOo

"Really," Nathaniel promised as he smoothed back a couple locks of her hair that has fallen from behind her ear. He let his hand slide down her back until it rested just above her hip. She didn't protest, or step back, or hit him, so he let it stay there. _So close._ She was so close. And he'd have to be blind to not notice how much more..._female_ she looked-and felt-in the close cut leather armor than her usual heavy plate set. _Easy, Nathaniel. For all you know she just wants a friend._ Oh, Maker, he dearly hoped not. "I will always be here for you. Be it as...as a friend-" The almost imperceptible slump that pulled at her shoulders gave him the last little bit of courage necessary to finish, "or more, if you want."

A breeze tousled her hair as a hopeful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "More?" she repeated, her grip on the greatsword growing even more lax.

He nodded. "If you want."

oOo

She felt almost giddy. Irene fought the rising urge to just _giggle_, as such an action would be completely un-Commander-like of her, and bit her bottom lip. "Well, I most certainly do, Nathaniel. I do need to warn you about something, though."

"What's that, Irene?"

Maker's breath, she loved the way he said her name. _Are you sure you want to do this again? And so soon?_ She shut out the worrying whispers of the past and smiled at the man who offered to help her face the future. "I'm a mite rusty when it comes to relationship that go beyond friendship."

His low chuckle was quite possibly the most wonderful sound she'd ever heard. "Well, like you said-" He kissed her forehead "-practice makes perfect."

_A/N: I just want to say, much as I enjoy the idea of all that lovely tension that could come from the Cousland/Nathaniel pairing, Irene ended up with him for the simple reason that she and Rahna were my only Wardens who weren't still in a state of pure bliss with Alistair at the time I started writing these. Plus, her and Nate just fit so darn well, personality-wise._


	2. Following Orders

Following Orders

"Damn it, Nathaniel! Did I or did I not tell you to stay back?" Irene crossed her arms and nearly _glared_ at the man, succeeding quite well at hiding the fact her anger was born mostly of sheer terror over how close she'd come to losing him.

"You did," he replied evenly.

"And do you always have so much trouble obeying direct orders?"

"Only when doing so could result in the death of my commander."

"It doesn't do me any good if you get yourself killed!" she hollered. "You know I'm no good with a bow, you're twice as good at lockpicking as Sigrun, and none of the rest of us have even a prayer of detecting traps!"

"I'll take that into consideration the next time I contemplate saving your life."

Irene gave vent to a very unladylike snort. "Anyone can swing a greatsword. And I'm hardly incapable of taking care of myself."

"I am aware," he retorted dryly. "But not everyone can_ lead_."

"_You_ could. Don't roll your eyes like that. I_ know _you could," Irene insisted, still almost-glaring. _And here I thought we were past the point of him getting me so sodding riled._

"And who would follow a Howe?" Nathaniel asked, his tone quiet and only slightly bitter.

"I can't believe you even need to _**ask**_ that! Anders, Sigrun, anyone else here at the Vigil! They know you're_ nothing _like your father, so don't try to hide behind what he did!" As soon as she said the words, she wished she hadn't.

His eyes went cold.

_That was rather harsh, Irene._ She winced inwardly and shook her head at herself. _Damn it, when will I learn to think __**before**__ I talk? _"This is getting us nowhere." She dragged her hands through her hair in a vain attempt to lose some of the moment's tension. "Just...Just try to follow orders from now on? Please?" She shouldn't be _asking_; she was the bloody commanding officer and she knew it, but Irene couldn't help herself.

"As you wish," Nathaniel conceded quietly.

"I guess I can live with that." She turned to leave.

"Unless we find ourselves in a situation similar to outside the mines."

She whirled back around. "Sod it all, Nathaniel,_** no**_! I want you to follow orders! I don't care if there's a bloody ogre trying to pummel me into paste, if I tell you to stay back, you_**stay back**_! How-"

He closed his eyes briefly, as if praying for patience, before his hand closed around hers and cut her off mid-lecture.

And then, while she was still processing _that_, he kissed her.

Irene's eyes widened in shock. _What on the the Maker's green earth is he doing?_ Her free hand instinctively jerked upward, and she thought about pulling back, even as Nathaniel's hand curved around the back of her neck. But that only lasted a few short seconds before she caved to the voice inside her whispering _You know you want this,_ because she knew it was right. _Oh, sweet Maker, do I ever..._ Her eyes slid closed as her free hand came to rest on Nathaniel's shoulder, and the one he'd caught twisted against his palm so her fingers could slip between his.

It was a _very_ good kiss. The kind that left you feeling dizzy and hungry for more, while it also satisfied beyond description.

"I see you haven't changed much at all," Nathaniel whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

"Whaddya mean?" Irene mumbled, head still spinning slightly from the kiss.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver of delight trickling down her spine. "You still yell the loudest at the people you care about when they nearly get killed."

"When they do something foolish and nearly get killed," she corrected softly. "Taking on an_ ogre _in _leather armor_ wasn't smart, and you know it."

"True..." Nathaniel conceded. "But surely you know me well enough to know I couldn't have done anything else."

"Guess I do have to give you that one," Irene admitted. "And I'm sorry for the comment about your father. I shouldn't have said that."

"Consider it forgiven. And maybe I needed to hear it."

She hadn't thought of that. "Mm. You also need to follow orders better."

He smiled. "And _you_ need to give orders that are easier to follow than having to stay back while an ogre attempts to crush the woman I care about so much."

Irene smirked. "Like what, exactly, Ser Howe?"

Nathaniel's smile widened but he didn't rise to her bait. "I'll leave that up to you, _Commander_." The teasing tone behind her title made Irene blush.

She raised one eyebrow, her smirk only intensifying. "Will you? In that case, I have one for you."

"Just the one?" he riposted with a look just shy of innocent in his eyes.

Irene laughed. "For now. Shut up and kiss me."

He couldn't resist. "That's two, Irene."

Her sigh of exasperation was cut short when Nathaniel proved himself very, _very _good at following orders with a second-even better-kiss.

_A/N: Sooo, after having the term 'rivalmance' explained to me as being like Mal and Inara in Firefly, I realized that, while I can't bring myself to rivalmance Fenris or Anders in DA2, Nathaniel and Irene are pretty darn close. _


	3. The Death of Me

**Timeframe for this one, in case you're wondering, is just barely post-game. Irene left Nathaniel in charge of defending the Vigil, and this is set right after she gets backing from fighting the Mother.**

The Death of Me

"Never mind, Anders. I'll take take care of him." Irene's off-hand tone did nothing to betray her weariness to the equally exhausted healer as she tugged Nathaniel's arm and led the way out of the throne room, which had been taken over as an extension of the infirmary in the aftermath of the battle against the Mother's darkspawn, and down one of the hallways.

"Dare I ask where we're going?" Nathaniel couldn't keep the low chuckle out of his question, even as he hid a wince. She might have grabbed his good arm, but this pace wasn't exactly gentle.

Irene turned and grinned at him. "My room. I doubt anyone would be brave enough to comandeer it as another extension of the infirmary without my permission, and I have some bandages squirrelled away for times I..." she cleared her throat, "don't want Anders healing me." Nathaniel raised one eyebrow at her. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she huffed, running one hand through her hair as she resumed her previous pace. "They usually weren't that bad. I didn't want to bother him for silly stuff, and some things are just too bloody embarrassing."

"And here I though I was too tired to be curious," Nathaniel muttered under his breath as they reached her room.

That remark earned him a wicked grin. "Oh, you'll find out sooner or later," Irene promised, her tone as innocent as her look wasn't. She pushed the door open and let him step in the room first. She stripped off her gauntlets and shed a few of the easier to remove bits of her armor, tossing them on the bed before examining his injured shoulder.

Nathaniel flinched when she gave the still-present arrow a cautious tug. "Ow!"

"Sorry. Lucky shot for a darkspawn," Irene muttered. "Didn't hit your armor at all; just managed to get right in between." She nudged his arm with her elbow. "Lift your arm a little bit."

It hurt like the blazes, but he complied. Irene unbuckled the straps to the shoulder guard and gingerly tugged it off. The rest of his armor soon followed, leaving him in just the clothes he wore underneath. "Irene-"

"Hold still. This is going to hurt," she interrupted, swallowing hard as she gripped the barbed arrowhead. "Probably a lot." She did her best, but you could only be so gentle when pulling an arrow out of someone's shoulder. And she was right; it hurt. A lot.

It took everything in him to restrict his reaction to sharp breath in at the pain. _Maker's __**breath**__..._

Irene felt him tense and immediately looked so chagrined he wanted nothing more than to kiss her forehead and reassure her it hadn't hurt _that_ badly, which would have been a lie. "Sorry. Here." She handed him a clean rag and pointed to a low bench. "Sit down and hold that against it 'til it stops bleeding. I'm going to go get the bandages."

He stripped off his bloodstained shirt before doing as ordered, still gritting his teeth as the pain took its sweet time fading.

It had been long enough he was starting to wonder if she had gotten lost somehow when Irene reappeared, minus her armor and carrying a roll of bandages and a couple vials of salve. "Has it stopped bleeding yet?"

"I think so." He let her check, the feeling of her fingers ghosting over his back going a long way toward helping him forget the pain. He felt it when she got distracted and trailed one finger along one of his other scars. "Focus, Irene."

She chuckled and gave his good shoulder a playful nudge. "All these scars... I swear, Nathaniel Howe, you'll be the death of me."

"Need I remind you, _Commander_, most of those are your fault," he returned, putting a teasing emphasis on her title. "So, really, I think _you're_ more likely to be the death of _me_."

She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Can't have that," she whispered before straightening and reaching for the bandages.

oOo

A comfortable silence stretched between the two of them as she patched him up, lingering touches and wordless looks saying plenty for both of them. They were both worn out, near collapsing from exhaustion after the non-stop demands of the past few days. Irene was more than happy to let her eyes do the talking for her. Well, most of it. "Lift your arm for me, just a bit." Her fingers splayed over his shoulder with the request, secretly enjoying the feel of his muscles as he did as she asked. _I'm tired, not dead. _"That's good." Nathaniel shifted position when she was almost done and she had to brush his hair out of the way so she could finish, briefly playing with the black strands as they slid over her fingers.

He chuckled, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. "Irene."

"What? Hold still, I'm almost done," she admonished, fingers fumbling with the bandages as she tried to keep her mind focused.

"Don't go getting distracted," he teased.

"At least I'm not getting distracted in the middle of a fight," Irene returned sweetly as she finished bandaging him up and sat next to him, a knowing grin plastered across her face.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Nate. Few weeks ago? Blackmarsh?" Irene brushed her fingers through her close cropped hair. "That shadow wolf that actually managed to get to you?" She gently ran her fingers over the mostly-healed scars on his chest, mentally adding _and scared me to death,_ before turning the full force of an impish grin on him. "Sigrun swears that it only managed to do that because you were paying more attention to me than the surroundings."

oOo

He refused to go so far as blushing, but the trapped look in his eyes probably gave him away regardless. "You...can be distracting, yes," he admitted. "You should probably take that as a compliment."

She laughed, which morphed into a yawn halfway through. "Believe me, I do. But if you get yourself killed, ser Howe, I will be less than happy with you. Glad you managed to avoid that without me around. In fact, to hear Varel tell it, you did an excellent job defending the Vigil."

He took advantage of how close she was sitting to lace his fingers in between hers. "I hardly did it single-handedly. And the few reports I heard indicated you managed to save the city?"

She nodded, yawning again as the past three days finally caught up to her. "We did. Delilah's fine, before you ask."

"Thank you." There was no need for him to say more. At least not with words. And Irene didn't resist in the slightest when he leaned over and kissed her.

Instead, she smiled into the kiss and dug the fingers of her free hand into his hair. When the first kiss ended, she simply smirked and kissed him again.

"I think," Nathaniel murmured, "on that note, I'll let you get some sleep." He'd picked up on her utter exhaustion, knew it had to exceed his own. He gave her hand a light squeeze as he stood.

Irene didn't let go. "Stay." Her tone was almost pleading. "Please. I...I don't want anything more than company, but please don't leave."

"You need to get some sleep, Irene. Come on." Nathaniel pulled her to her feet.

"Nate..." Exhaustion slurred her voice. She stumbled as she stood, and he caught her before she fell, wincing when his injured arm twinged-hard-at the extra weight.

"Come on." He led her over to the bed, pushing the pieces of her armor off to the side as he sat down, his own exhaustion finally showing itself. He honestly didn't know if he would have been able to walk the distance to his own room, so Irene's request was a Maker-sent blessing.

Irene all but dropped next to him as he leaned back against the wall, snuggling close and resting her head on his good shoulder. "Nathaniel?"

He smiled at how tired she sounded. "Mmm?"

"Love...you..." She was dead to the world almost before the words passed her lips.

Nathaniel pressed a kiss to her forehead, small smile still pulling at his lips. "I love you, too," he whispered before surrendering to the overwhelming need for sleep.

_A/N: I really wish I could link to dA for this one... This is the result of a commish I got from emedeme, and aside from being my favorite picture of Nate just about ever, she gave Irene a really cool haircut. Darn ... *pout*_


	4. Distraction

**First time not going in chronological order; this one comes before The Death of Me.**

Distraction

"Maker's breath, hold still!" Irene huffed. Kell whined and looked up at her with hurt eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that, you big baby. I have to get this out, and you know it." Her grip tightened on the mabari's paw as he tried to pull it free.

"What's wrong?" Nathaniel crouched next to her and rested one hand on Kell's head. The mabari gave him a soulful look and whined again as Irene cursed under her breath and flicked her hair out of her eyes.

"His morning exploration ended with a thorn or something stuck in his paw, but every time I almost get it, he moves, or my hair falls in my eyes and I lose it," she explained, tone thick with irritation. "I swear I'm going to chop my hair off short. Well, shorti_er/i_."

"You've been saying that for weeks. One has to wonder if you'll ever make good on it," Nathaniel replied with a quiet chuckle, reaching over to tuck back one of the offending locks. _Not that I'd mind if you do._

"I mean it this time," Irene muttered, just as the chin-length brown locks swung forward again, blocking her view. "Andraste's knickerweasels! I give up!"

"Allow me." Nathaniel chuckled and nudged her hand aside.

"Be my guest," the warrior snorted, pushing to her feet and all but storming toward the woods, muttering about borrowing one of Sigrun's daggers.

Kell's muscles flexed as the mabari shifted to follow his mistress, but Nathaniel pressed a staying hand to the dog's shoulder. "She'll be alright. Let's see about getting this out, hm?" He studied the irritated skin on the bottom of Kell's paw, gently probing for whatever was responsible. "I know, boy," he soothed as the mabari whined again. "Just hold still and I'll have it out in a moment."

oOo

The mabari obeyed, miraculously enough, and it only took a few minutes for Nathaniel to dig out the thorn. He headed back toward where they had set up camp, fully expecting to find Irene pacing and mumbling to herself like she usually did when she got frustrated. But the warrior was nowhere to be found. "Where's the Commander?"

Sigrun shrugged. "Got me. She came storming through here, snatched one of my daggers and marched off that way." The dwarf motioned vaguely toward the surrounding trees, just as Irene reappeared. "Great ancestors, what happened to your hair?"

_She finally did it._ Nathaniel couldn't help but smile at the woman's new haircut, a much shorter, ragged pixie cut that looked good on her. Too good.

"What?" Irene blushed at the stares she was getting from Nathaniel and Sigrun both. "Does it look that horrible?"

"No! I didn't mean it like that!" Sigrun assured her. "It just looks different."

"Good different or bad different?" Irene asked almost hesitantly as she handed back the dagger she'd borrowed.

"Good." The word was past his lips almost before Nathaniel was aware of speaking.

Her face shaded an even darker tone of pink as she looked over at him. "You really like it?" She wasn't asking for a general opinion this time. She was asking _him_.

"I do," he replied quietly, brushing his fingers through the ragged bangs curling rebelliously against her forehead. "It...seems to suit you."

"Good," Irene murmured, tweaking one of the dangling strands of hair he could never get to stay out of his face.

"Oh, would you two just kiss already? I promise I won't look," Sigrun piped up, a grin plain in her voice as they both sent glares in her direction. "Or did I just ruin the moment?" She looked both gleeful and chagrined at the same time.

Irene sighed, casting a glance at the sky. "We need to be packing up camp, anyway, if we want to make any progress today." She shifted to step back and turn away.

Nathaniel stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Irene."

"Mm?" She looked at him questioningly.

"You really do look beautiful." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, ignoring Sigrun's giggles and the low whistle from Anders as the mage happened to return to camp right at that moment.

"Thank you. And thank you for helping with Kell. He can be ornery sometimes."

"Just like his owner." Nathaniel chuckled at the look _that_ earned him. "Irene, you are one of the most stubborn people I've ever met."

She wrinkled her nose at him and muttered under her breath as she stepped back to start packing up the campsite. "Only 'cause you never met yourself."

oOo

The rest of their journey to the Blackmarsh was uneventful, to the point Irene wished something would happen, just because things never stayed _this_ calm for _this_ long around her. It made her jumpy, enough so that when Kell picked up on her tension and nosed her hand she nearly yelped and _did_ jerk away. "Sodding dog, don't startle me like that," she muttered, before raising her voice. "I hear that laugh you're trying to hide, Sigrun."

"I...don't know what you're talking about, Commander," the dwarf giggled, shooting Nathaniel an impish grin behind the leader's back. "Why're you so jumpy anyway?"

"Because, Sigrun, things never stay this calm without something absolutely catastrophic brewing. At least not in my experience. And the longer it takes for chaos to erupt, the worse it is," Irene explained still looking tense as they entered the marsh.

"You know, my father used to tell me stories about this place," Nathaniel commented, scanning their surroundings warily. Mostly to distract himself from staring at Irene, if he was honest. The air seemed to resonate with the echo of a wolf's howl, and the tracking abilities he'd spent years honing were practically screaming at him.

"Do tell," Irene muttered, raking one hand through her hair while the other came to rest on Kell's head.

"He said evil magic killed everyone here." Nathaniel rested one hand against the trunk of gnarled, long-dead tree for balance as he knelt to check the ground for tracks. Sure enough, tell-tale-and rather recent-pawprints marred the soil.

"Nathaniel." Irene's voice carried a note of quiet warning as she rested a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

The low growl from up ahead answered his question before he could ask it. A pack of blighted wolves crouched over the carcass of some no longer recognizable farm animal, snapping and snarling at each other for scraps of meat.

"Hold, boy," Irene whispered to Kell. She looked at the others, ensuring they were all as ready to fight as the mabari before she reached for the handle of her greatsword. The alpha wolf's head snapped up.

Its howl was cut off by roughly a hundred pounds of muscle and tan fur slamming into it teeth first. Kell took all of three seconds to finish off the wolf before lunging at the nearest of its followers.

Irene had to give a grim smile at the mabari's alacrity dealing with the attacking animals. _I knew bringing him was a good idea._

oOo

There were more wolves after the first bunch, all blighted, and all hungry. The few that made the mistake of heading for Irene met their death far more quickly than the rest, either by Kell's teeth or Nathaniel's arrows. She noticed the extra protection the two were giving her and rewarded the mabari by ruffling his ears and the archer with a kiss on the cheek. "You know I can take care of myself, right?" she teased as they reached the tumbled ruins on the outskirts of the old village.

"You've made that abundantly clear by now," Nathaniel replied with a wry smile. "It doesn't mean I'm going to stop."

She laughed at that. "Noted."

"Uh, Commander?"

"What, Anders?" Irene turned to look at the mage. He just pointed to something barely past the rotting gate timbers. "Oh." The group hurried forward to examine the corpse, clearly that of a hurlock. "So there is a darkspawn presence. Kristoff was right about that." She nudged the body with her toe, frowning at the claw marks tearing down the creature's torso. "But what killed it?"

Nathaniel looked at the wounds. "I...don't know. Those look like wolf's claws, but they're far too large."

Something dawned in her eyes as he said that, and she swore under her breath. "Come on. We need to find whatever's responsible." She walked ahead, but had barely taken two steps before something large, dark, and hairy barrelled out of the shadows and slammed into her. Kell was on top of whatever it was a split second later, his claws and teeth tearing at it.

Nathaniel had an arrow nocked and drawn back when a second, nearly identical, dark and hairy something charged from the opposite direction. Considering that Sigrun and Kell were already handling the whatever-it-was attacking Irene, he turned and loosed his arrow toward the new threat. It let out a yelp as the shaft struck it in the neck, the sound trailing into a death howl when Anders nailed it with a lightning spell a few seconds later. Sigrun and Kell finished off the one attacking Irene, who scrambled to her feet. She looked sheepish, dirt clinging to her short hair and powdering her armor, but unscathed.

"Too slow that time, Nate," she teased, feathering her fingers through her hair to dislodge the dirt. Kell licked her hand, giving a small whine. "I'm fine, boy."

"Great ancestors, what are these things?" Sigrun muttered as she kicked the body of the first creature.

"Werewolves. Smaller than the ones I ran into in the Brecilian Forest," Irene replied.

"_Smaller_?" Sigrun stared at her with wide eyes.

"Mm-hm. Be careful. I doubt that's all of them."

oOo

She was right; they were attacked twice more by the werewolves, and larger groups than the first time. Irene quickly developed an intense hatred for the wiry shadow wolves, which she _hadn't_ seen before here. They had an almost human ability to disguise their presence until they were close enough to strike. That made it near-impossible for Nathaniel or Anders to do anything to injure or slow them down before they were right up in her or Sigrun's face.

Of course, the fact Nathaniel was struggling to keep his attention _off_ Irene and _on_ the surrounding marsh may have been partially responsible for his lack of success. He was grateful she was always looking away whenever he glanced in her direction, as the frequency of those glances would have earned him a lecture at the very least and a lifetime of teasing at the worst.

_I'm only human, and she's amazing to watch._ That much was true. Irene moved far more gracefully on the battlefield than she ever had off it. You could tell she was more comfortable here; her movements more fluid when she was wearing armor and swinging a sword than they were when she was wearing a dress and dancing her way around politics. Add in that damned _distracting_ new haircut, and she was as much a danger to him as she was to whatever was idiotic enough to attack them.

Case in point, the way he couldn't help it when his eyes drifted off the ominous crags and underbrush and onto her, even as yet another group of werewolves charged out of the gloom. _Stop that,_ he warned himself as he nocked an arrow running almost purely on instinct. _You know damned well allowing yourself to get distracted in a place like this is ten times more dangerous than it would normally be._ The werewolves' all too familiar howls ricocheted almost eerily off the strange stone pillars as Irene and Kell lunged forward to meet them. Anders and Sigrun both swore as they backed up the warrior, the ring of stones echoing with the chaos of battle. _**Focus**__, Nathaniel!_

The self-reprimand and Sigrun's warning cry both came too late. Even as he swung around, a blur of dark, greasy fur, wiry muscles, and teeth hurtled from behind one of the standing stones and slammed into him. The shadow wolf's claws were tearing for a good hold before they even hit the ground.

oOo

"_**Nate!**_" The shriek ripped free almost of its own accord. That old, familiar fear she hadn't felt since Fort Drakon clamped down hard on Irene as she and Sigrun both abandoned their targets with the single goal to _get it off him_. "Anders!" she yelled, desperation cracking her voice as she drove her sword into the shadow wolf. _Healing spell, __**now**__!_ Nathaniel wasn't moving, and there was so much _blood_, and she couldn't do this. _Not again. Please, Maker, not again. I __**can't **__lose him._

Trusting-with great effort-that the healing spell Anders had summoned between lightning bolts would be enough, Irene made herself turn and deal with the remaining werewolves. Her blade interrupted feral snarls from the throats of the last creatures, felling both with one swing. _And __**that's **__why I love this thing_, she smirked darkly as the now-headless bodies fell to the ground.

To her immense relief, when she turned back around Anders was offering Nathaniel a hand up. _Thank you, Maker, and thank you, Anders._ Completely ignoring the still-warm corpses littering the ground, the gloomy surroundings, the look Anders gave Sigrun, and her own exhaustion, Irene curled her fingers around the first available straps on Nathaniel's more or less ruined armor-"Come here,"-and yanked him into a kiss. Her fingers moved up to dig into his hair as he caught his balance and kept it with a hand braced against her shoulder.

He finally pulled back, feeling the fine tremor that ran through her. "Irene. I'm fine." He brushed his fingers through her bangs, bringing one hand to rest under her chin so he could make her look at him. "I promise."

Her rapid breathing slowed, the look of pure terror fading from her eyes as shaking hands dropped to his chest, tracing the half-healed gashes torn through the center of his armor. "Not yet, you're not." She looked up from the wounds when blood smeared off on her hand. "Anders?"

The healer gave her a tired smile, leaning back against one of the few living trees. "There's only so much I can do at one time, Commander. Give me a minute."

Guilt crashed down on her. "I'm sorry, Anders. I know you have limits. I tend to have a one track mind sometimes." She sighed, suddenly feeling entirely too exhausted herself. "We can take a short break, or even make camp if we need to."

"That's probably a good idea," Sigrun piped up. "We're all tired, and I think it's gettin' late." She shrugged. "Not that you can really tell here."

Irene let out a small laugh. "True. Camp it is."

oO

After they set up camp, Anders finished healing Nathaniel while Irene and Sigrun dug through the packs in search of food.

"Y'know, Commander, I didn't think I'd ever see Nathaniel get blindsided like that," the dwarf commented.

"Same here, and I'd rather not talk about it," Irene replied.

"D'you know _why_?"

"Why what?" Irene frowned in confusion, tugging out a set of leather armor that would work well enough for Nathaniel until the other set could be repaired.

"Why he didn't notice that thing." Sigrun grinned at her. "He was paying too much attention to you."

Irene felt the heat spread from her neck upwards. "That's silly. Nathaniel never pays more attention to anything than he does surroundings."

"Except you." Sigrun's grin widened. "Hey, I'm just telling you what I saw, Commander."

"I'm going to give this to Nate. You keep looking to see what food you can find." Irene picked up the armor and stood, ignoring the dwarf's giggles. She crossed to sit with Nathaniel, silently noting the way Anders immediately made himself scarce. "This is the next best thing we have. Not as good as yours was, of course, but it'll do the job. I hope." She worried the edges of the leather until Nathaniel covered her hand with his.

"Irene, stop worrying," he chided, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "You're worse than me."

_That _earned him a smile. "I very much doubt that," Irene chuckled, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. Something creepy-sounding chose that moment to squawk a cry from a non too distant bush, effectively killing the moment. "Maker, I hate this place."

"And this without having your head filled with stories like I did," Nathaniel smiled. "When I was younger, I used to dream of coming here and setting things right." He chuckled. "Little boy dreams."

"Nathaniel, every little boy wants to be a hero." Irene grinned at him. "And some little girls, too."

He thought about that for a moment. "I'd be willing to share the role if you are."

Irene scooted closer. "Deal."


	5. The One Thing

_ Irene groaned as her best efforts to prevent the inevitable proved fruitless and her hand dropped toward the rough wood._

_ Her knuckles had barely brushed it when Gilmore grinned and slapped the table. "Touching!"_

_ "Ha!" Fergus crowed, still not letting up until Irene let her arm go limp in surrender. "I __**can**__ still beat you, little sister."_

_ She sighed before grinning at him. "Not for much longer. I've only been training for four years, compared to your nine, and I'm already giving you a run for your money, __**big brother**__." She put a teasing emphasis on the last words, pairing them with a playful swing at his shoulder._

_ "You're just not allowed to beat me until you're eighteen, alright?" Fergus joked as he pushed back from the table. "Losing to my younger sister will be bad enough then, but my sixteen year old sister beating me at arm wrestling is just not allowed to happen." He leaned over to tweak the bridge of her nose. "Promise?"_

_ "I make no such promise," Irene riposted with an impish grin. "I beat you when I beat you."_

_ "Brat." Fergus made a face at her as he headed for the sparring ring. "Come on, Gilmore, we need to practice."_

_ "Can I watch?" Irene asked, pushing up the sleeves of the tunic she wore, a too-big one that had belonged to Fergus before she appropriated it._

_ "__**May**__ I, and sure, why not?" Fergus replied with a shrug._

_ "Yes!" she exulted. All but running to keep up with his longer stride, she followed her older brother to the sparring ring._

The clatter of something metal and heavy hitting the floor, followed by what sounded like Sigrun cursing under her breath, woke Irene with a start. Her eyes snapped open, then widened at the amount of light sneaking through the cracks in her shutters. _Sod, how late did I sleep? _She sat up so fast it left her fighting momentary dizziness. She ran one hand through her hair, feeling the pieces that were sticking up in crazy directions, and mentally thanked the Maker Nathaniel was still asleep.

The door creaked open as Irene was mulling over the archer's presence in her room. She couldn't help but wonder where things would go, now that the immediate danger had been removed, especially since she dimly recalled telling the man she loved him before she fell asleep.

"Oh, Ancestors, did I wake you up?" Sigrun asked just above a whisper, poking her head in through the cracked open door.

Irene chuckled. "You did, but it's okay. I need to get up anyway."

"You gonna wake Nathaniel?"

"No." Irene reluctantly edged away from Nathaniel and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "If whatever you dropped didn't do it, he still needs sleep." She used her fingers to sort-of comb her hair, tugged on her wrinkled tunic to straighten it, and headed for the door. "C'mon. You can fill me in on what all's been done, repairs-wise."

"Sure thing, Commander." Sigrun stooped to pick up the things she'd dropped before answering. "Damage report on the walls-it's not pretty, Commander-_trying_ to convince Garevel he needs to rest, little repairs around the keep, like fixing broken windows, that kind of thing."

"Garevel?" Irene raised an eyebrow. She'd seen Varel when she got back the night before, but not the captain.

"Sodding genlock nearly took his leg off," Sigrun explained, shifting her armload as she started off down the hall toward the armory. "We've told him multiple times he's only going to make it worse or bleed to death or something if he doesn't rest, but he won't listen. Maybe if you...?"

"I'll talk to him," Irene promised. Her stomach let out a growl. "After I eat something."

She was halfway done bolting down a bowl of porridge when a very familiar pair of callused hands came to rest on her shoulders. Irene tipped her head back to look up at him. "Morning, Nate. Hungry?" She gave a half-nod in the direction of the kitchen. "I can slow down so we can eat together," she offered.

"Sounds good to me," Nathaniel chuckled softly, one thumb rubbing against the back of her neck. Irene rolled her shoulder and let out a small groan of enjoyment. This earned her another quiet chuckle from Nathaniel before he kissed her forehead and headed for the kitchen. "Wait right there."

"Oh, I'm not going _anywhere_, trust me," she called after him with a laugh. _Not when the view is __**so**__ perfect._ He had neglected to reclaim his shirt before leaving her room, and Irene was perfectly content to just _stare_ after him.

She didn't have long to wait before he returned and sat next to her, leaning over to whisper, "I saw that," as he did.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Irene whispered back with a giggle.

"Mm-hm." Nathaniel didn't sound convinced. But he didn't sound like he minded, either.

The two didn't speak much as they ate, and it wasn't until Irene was scraping the last bits of porridge out of her bowl that Nathaniel asked what she had to do that day. "You want it alphabetically or by level of urgency?"

He laughed, absently rubbing the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. "Whichever you prefer."

"Alright, then..." She ran down the list. "Wanna come along? Keep me sane?"

"I think it's a little late for that," he countered with a smile. "But, yes, if you don't need me anywhere else, I'll come along."

_Maker's breath, Nate, don't phrase it like that..._ Her mind had instantly jumped to the one place she'd rather both of them be, if she was honest, but this wasn't the time for _that_. "Not like there's anything else you can do with that shoulder. But you should probably put on a shirt first," she pointed out reluctantly. "For appearances' sake, if nothing else."

"As you wish."

"See, I _wish_ you _wouldn't_," Irene muttered, which earned her a chuckle and a kiss.

The shirt he chose, however, was almost as much of a distraction as if he'd left it off; worn to a softness she didn't want to stop touching it, top two buttons conspicuously undone.

"You did that on purpose," Irene hissed, fighting a grin as she leaned against his good shoulder and wrapped one arm around him in a loose hug.

"Did what?" Nathaniel smirked as his arm slid around her.

"_This_." She tugged on one of the loose buttons. "You're trying to distract me, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't dare, _Commander_. You have too much to do to be getting distracted." He kissed her temple.

Irene snorted in disbelief. "For not trying you're doing a damn good job, Howe."

"Then I won't have any trouble convincing you to take a break in a few hours. For now, I believe you mentioned needing to speak with Garevel?"

_Back to business_, Irene sighed. "I do. Come on. There's a whole long list for after that, too." 

The whole long list got put on hold when the gate guards let out the cry that someone was approaching just as Irene finished talking to Garevel. "Oh, sod, what now?" she groaned.

"No rest for the wicked, you know that, Irene," Nathaniel pointed out.

"But I haven't been particularly wicked lately. I'm due a break," Irene protested, raking her hand through her hair.

"Why don't you go see who it is before you panic?" Nathaniel suggested with a soft chuckle, running his fingers through her hair and smoothing all the damage her frazzled worrying had done.

"Good idea." She nodded. "See, this is why I need you. You're the one thing keeping me sane."

"Along with several other reasons..." Nathaniel trailed off as they headed for the gate.

All semblence of calm deserted Irene, however, when she saw who was coming. "Oh, sweet blood of Andraste," the warrior muttered, burying her face in Nathaniel's chest after one glimpse.

"Who is it?" he asked, not recognizing the soldiers that made up the small complement approaching the Vigil. "That's not enough guards for it to be the queen."

"Worse," Irene moaned, looking up to shoot him a despairing look. " It's_ Fergus_."

He returned one of confusion. "Irene, if I remember correctly, you idolized your brother, and followed him around until he actually complained good-naturedly about it. So, did something change in the past few years to ruin that, or do you have another reason for being so panic-stricken?"

"I, um, may not have told him about you," she admitted in a voice just above a squeak, attention and eyes focused on the buttons of his shirt.

"_Irene._" Nathaniel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I mean, I mentioned I'd recruited you. Got a right telling off for it, too. I just... I, um, may not have filled him in on how I feel about you."

"Well, that's a bit better."

"I mean, we've been so busy, and it happened kind of gradually, and-"

"Irene." Nathaniel brushed her cheek with his thumb. "You don't need to explain to _me_. Fergus is the who'll need an explanation."

"I'm so dead," Irene groaned.

"I think I'm more the one who needs to worry about that," Nathaniel corrected her with a wry smile, rubbing her back with one hand.

"Not funny," she protested.

"I wasn't joking."

"Oh, _**sod**_." Irene swallowed hard. "Y'know what, I'm not waiting for him to get here." She sighed, turning toward the steps. "He already thinks I'm crazy."

Nathaniel tightened his grip on her hand rather than letting go. "I'm coming with you."

"You sure?" Irene bit her lip.

"I'm sure."

"What _have_ you done to your hair, 'Ren?" Fergus demanded as he yanked her into a bear hug.

"Cut it so it didn't get me killed," Irene replied, more than a little surprised he noticed _that_ before he noticed the man with her. "Not that I'm unhappy to see you, but what're you doing here? Don't you have a terynir to run?"

"I heard there was some trouble out here, figured if you needed my help it was more important than squabbling banns." He looked up at the still-smoldering walls. "I see I'm a bit late for that."

"Yep. It's the thought that counts, though," Irene offered, stepping back toward Nathaniel. It took every bit of willpower she possessed to not lean back against his shoulder. _That's his bad one anyway..._she reminded herself, hands curling into nervous fists as Fergus noticed her company. And her proximity to said company.

To his credit, her brother kept his reaction to a curt nod. "Nathaniel."

The archer returned the nod. "Fergus."

"We should probably go inside," Irene hinted, eyeing the gate.

Fergus' posture and expression both told her she wasn't getting off that easily. "Not until you explain _this_ to me." He gestured at how close she was standing to Nathaniel.

"Inside," Irene insisted. "I promise, I'll answer all your questions, let you yell at me, whatever you want, just... inside, please."

Her brother conceded with a sigh. "Fine. But you _will_ explain."

"Oh, I plan to." She rested one hand on his shoulder and nudged him toward the keep. "Let's go."

"Irene, I want details, and I want them right now," Fergus demanded, pulling off his gauntlets.

Irene shot him an exasperated look as she leaned against the wall of his room. "Details about what, brother?"

"_Him_." Her brother motioned in the general direction of the throne room and Nathaniel.

"Not much to tell. I recruited him, he's been an excellent Warden, and I trust him."

"And there hasn't been any...trouble?" Fergus asked as he pulled off his breastplate.

"Andraste's eyes, Fergus, no! He was your best friend growing up. You of all people should know how important honor is to him," Irene protested.

"Alright, there's more to this than just you defending your choice to recruit him. What aren't you telling me?"

"Who says there's something I'm not telling you?" his sister muttered.

"_I_ do, Irene Camilla. I can tell when you're keeping secrets."

She made a face at the addition of her middle name; his way of not-so-subtly pulling rank on her. "Fine. I... He... Maker, Fergus, I love him."

Fergus blinked, pausing in the act of rolling up his sleeves. "You... what?"

"I love him," she repeated.

"Does _he_ know that?"

She nodded. "You... don't think I'm crazy?"

"I've _always_ thought you were crazy, 'Ren," Fergus chuckled. "But if Nathaniel's proven you can trust him-"

"Oh, he has, believe me," Irene promised.

"-then what objection can I possibly make that you'll actually listen to?" her brother finished, impishly tweaking her nose.

"Such a thing does not exist, big brother." She threw her arms around his neck in a hug. "Thank you. I was positive you'd be furious, considering how you reacted when I told you about recruiting him."

"Irene, what I was furious about was you recruiting someone who had every reason to try and kill you. If he's not that person anymore, I'll not breathe another word about it. He is, however, still going to get the standard 'Hurt-my-baby-sister-and-I-kill-you' speech." Fergus grinned at the mortified look that flew across Irene's face. "Problem, sister?"

"Fergus, do you have to?"

"It's my brotherly duty and you know it," he chuckled, kissing her forehead. "Come on."

She still could hardly believe it had been that easy. She'd been expecting a huge argument, not... whatever that had been.

"Well?" Nathaniel asked quietly, reaching for her hand.

Irene laced her fingers between his. "Apparently my brother is far more level-headed than I give him credit for being."

"Which happens a lot," Fergus added as he joined them. He met Nathaniel's gaze, brown eyes dark with warning. "I just want to have one thing perfectly clear. I'm fine with... whatever you two have-" He gestured at their clasped hands, "-just remember; this is my little sister. She's already been through more than any person should be asked to endure in a lifetime. If you add to that at all, if you hurt her, I. Will. Kill you. Clear?"

"Very," Nathaniel replied, wry smile tugging at one side of his mouth as he gave Irene's hand a squeeze.

"Good." The dark look in Fergus' eyes melted into a smile. "Now I want to get something to drink, and then, little sister, if I remember correctly, you owe me an arm wrestling match."

"Fergus, no," Irene groaned. "We both know how _that's _going to end."

"Oh, yes. That's the one thing where I still win, and _you owe me_."

"Fine," she grumbled, sticking her tongue out at her brother's back as he walked toward the kitchen. After he disappeared she looked up at Nathaniel. "Sorry 'bout that."

He chuckled. "Don't apologize, Irene. Remember, I have a younger sister, too. Honestly, that was tame in comparison to the speech I gave Albert."

"Ah. I see," Irene giggled. She pushed up on her tiptoes and stole a kiss. "Well, I suppose I should ready myself for a rather crushing defeat."

"Oh?"

"I've never managed to beat Fergus at arm wrestling. Ever. It drives me crazy, because by all rights I _should_. My sword is heavier, I practice way more than him..." she shook her head. "And yet he somehow always wins."

"Well, this I have to see." Nathaniel rubbed her back with his free hand. "I've never seen you lose at anything."

"That's about to change," Irene muttered as Fergus reappeared from the kitchen, full mug in hand.

She was right. Nathaniel buried a chuckle as he leaned against the wall to watch the Cousland siblings go at it. Fergus won. Easily. Nathaniel crossed his arms and grinned as Irene loudly protested that he must have cheated to win so easily.

"Alright, sister. Rematch?" Fergus braced his elbow against the table and offered her his hand again.

"Definitely, you dirty, rotten cheater," Irene muttered, slapping her hand against his and grasping it tightly. "Go!" Her initial starting jolt was the only point where it so much as looked like she might win. Fergus recovered quickly enough, and slowly but surely, Irene's hand dipped backwards.

"Come on, 'Ren. Try harder."

"Oh, shut up, you, you-" Irene glared at her brother, letting out a groan of frustration as the back of her hand once again landed flat on the table.

"Good thing we weren't betting money like last time," Fergus teased as Irene yanked her hand free.

She glared daggers at him, a rueful grin underneath. "Oh, hush, Fergus."

"Only when you beat me," he shot back, grinning as he tipped up his mug to get the last dregs of its contents.

Irene huffed in mock exasperation and leaned back against Nathaniel's chest when the rogue sat next to her. "Nate, make him stop."

"Why?" he asked around a quiet chuckle, his arm circling her waist.

"Mmm... 'cause I asked you to?" she offered, tilting her head back to look up at him.

"Perhaps I should just steal you away instead?" He kissed her forehead.

She grinned. "I like the sound of that even more. Fergus, help yourself to whatever you need, Nate and I need to get back to work."

Her brother eyed the two of the suspiciously. "Sure. Work. I'll see you around, then, Irene."

"Mm-hm. C'mon, Nate." She stood, dragging the archer up with her, and headed down the hallway, barely waiting until they were out of sight of the throne room to pull Nathaniel down into a kiss, trapping herself between him and the wall.

"You know, we really do need to get back to work," he said softly, his breath warm against her forehead when he finally pulled back. "I'm sure there's a lot to do."

"It can wait. Y'know that saying about all work and no play?" Irene murmured, fingers digging into the collar of his shirt.

"Irene, if there's one thing you'll never be, it's dull," Nathaniel chuckled, bending to steal another kiss as they very deliberately ignored the world around them for a few more minutes.


	6. A Proper Good Morning

A Proper Good Morning

She loved this time of day. It brought back memories of waking up early as a little girl and sitting with her father to watch the sunrise. A wistful smile tugged at the corners of Irene's mouth as she slipped into a tunic and stifled a yawn. This was also the only time there was even the faintest sliver of hope she could find somewhere quiet to sit and think. She toyed ever-so-briefly with the idea on sneaking into Nathaniel's room and waking him up to join her, but decided against it; she knew he'd been up late the night before, talking to Fergus mostly. Which, of course, meant she had probably been the main-if not only-topic of conversation.

Irene made a brief stop in the kitchen, looking for something to serve as a snack before she headed for the wall, and decided to settle for an apple, plucking a good-sized one from the half empty bushel basket in the corner. "This'll do," the warrior whispered with a grin before ducking out the door.

)*( )*( )*(

She made her way up to the wall and bit into her apple as she surveyed what of the keep she could see in the pink-ish light of dawn. The attack was now a thing of almost two weeks past, but there were still jagged gaps in the parapet, broken arrow shafts jammed between masonry, and only half of the statue of Andraste remained in the courtyard; the rest a pile of crumbled stone around the base.

It was when she went to toss the core of her apple over the wall that she noticed the lone figure on the road, walking toward the Vigil at a moderate pace.

"Who in the bloody blue blazes would be traveling this early?" the warrior muttered, pushing to her feet to go alert the guardsmen, members of Fergus' contingent.

"We see them," one informed her before Irene had even opened her mouth.

"Good." There was something familiar about the traveler's gait, an almost musical fluidity that had Irene suddenly breaking out in a grin. "Open the gate."

"But-"

"It's someone I know, soldier. I promise, it'll be fine."

"If you say so, Commander," the young man replied. "I just... wouldn't want to have to tell the teryn something happened t' you on my watch, beggin' your pardon."

Irene laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Can't blame you for that," she admitted. "But I'm in no danger." With that, she was bolting down the stairs to greet the newest arrival to the fortress.

)*( )*( )*(

The cloaked and hooded figure reached the gate at the same moment as Irene. "And here I thought you were busy investigating darkspawn," the warrior chuckled.

"I actually was." The dusty hood fell away, exhibiting red hair, longer than Irene remembered, and playful blue eyes. "How are you, _mon ami_?" Leliana asked with a smile.

"Busy, sore, and very surprised to see you, Lel," Irene returned, stepping forward to embrace her best friend. "Last I heard, you were in Orzammar."

"I was," the bard confirmed. "But my investigation hit... a bit of a dead end. So I figured I could take a month or two off to visit a very good friend."

Irene laughed. "Your timing couldn't be better. There's a lot to talk about."

"Indeed, it looks like you've had some excitement here, no?" Leliana scanned the repairs in progress, an eyebrow twitching when she caught sight of the statue.

"You know darkspawn," Irene replied with a chuckle.

"I do indeed," Leliana replied. "So, _mon ami_, what is it you want to talk about?"

"Maker's breath, Lel, you're not wasting any time, are you?" Irene led the way toward the keep.

"What would the point be?" the redhead giggled. "You want to talk, I'm willing to listen... the sooner the better, no?"

"Good point," Irene conceded. "Um, I wanted to talk to you about falling in love."

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "Do not feel you have to rush, Irene. Everyone who knows you knows how much you loved Alistair. Take all the time you need."

Irene grinned sheepishly. "I, um, did."

"Maker's breath, how do you meet someone new and fall in love inside_ six months_?" Leliana demanded, catching the meaning behind the short statement.

"That's the thing, Lel. He's not _technically_ someone new. I knew him before I was a Warden, even."

"Indeed? And what's the name of this man who somehow got you to break your solemn promise to never fall in love again?"

"Nathaniel. You want to know the real irony?" Irene asked with a wry smile as they reached the keep. "He's Arl Howe's eldest."

Leliana blinked at her. "But you-"

"I know, I know. Just wait 'til you meet him, Lel. He's _nothing_ like his father. Trust me, you'll be cursing the fact I got to him first."

)*( )*( )*(

Considering the early hour, Irene decided to get Leliana settled in one of the guest rooms before she even bothered to see if anyone else was awake.

"Oh, I have a gift for you," Leliana pulled a brown paper-swathed bundle out of her pack as she spoke.

"Leli-"

"Consider it a slightly early birthday present," the bard wheedled with a smile.

"Fine, fine." Irene picked at the twine that bound the packaging. The second she saw the quality of the sea green material inside, she looked up at Leliana. "You didn't."

"Oh, but I did," Leliana contradicted as Irene pulled out the skirt. "Even a warrior like you can dress up every once in a while, no?"

"No," Irene grumbled, rubbing the fine silk-like material with her thumb and index finger. "Thanks for the thought, but my sole areas of normal feminine weakness are shoes and flowers."

"Surely you will have opportunity to wear it, no? Do you not have important occassions here?" Leliana grinned. "Has Nathaniel even _seen_ you in anything other than trousers or armor?"

"Yes," Irene shot back, smirking. _When I was thirteen..._

"Recently," Leliana clarified.

_Damn._ "No," Irene grumbled. "Not recently."

"Well, then, while I'm here, I going to make sure he does," Leliana smirked.

"There's no need to play matchmaker, Lel," Irene protested. "He already know I love him. And has assured both me and my brother the feeling is mutual."

"Irene, it's not even _fancy_!" Leliana pointed out in exasperation. "It's just a skirt."

"It's still _nice_! What am I going to wear it with, Lel? Every shirt I own is rough, patched, or bloodstained," Irene retorted.

"You didn't keep that off-shoulder one Alistair used to love?" the bard asked coyly.

"I- Yes, I still have that, but it's simple, and, and..." Irene let her protest trail off, picturing how the top in question would look with Leliana's gift. _Sod, that __**would**__ actually look half-decent. If I can deal with the memories..._ "Leliana, we just finished fighting a minor war here. I highly doubt anyone would be in the mood for a party-"  
>"<em>Absurdité<em>,_ mon ami_. This is when they need it most, I think, no? And I know your birthday is soon."

Irene narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't."

Leliana just giggled.

"Leli, don't you _**dare**_!"

"Well, you know that's as good as a challenge," Leliana teased. "I have to now."

"I'm... going to go hide in my room now. And not come out until a good week _after_ my birthday." Irene yanked open the door with the intention beating a hasty retreat.

She nearly ran into Fergus instead. "Whoa, baby sister. Where's the fire?"

"Fergus, what have I told you about calling me 'baby sister'?" Irene huffed, glaring at her brother as he chuckled.

"Why do you think I still do it 'Ren?" Fergus teased.

"An' what're you doing up so early? I thought you and Nate were up late talking last night."

"It wasn't _that_ late Irene," her brother explained, tweaking her nose. "Apparently there's still a lot of fixing up to be done around here, and your man wants to be able to help."

Irene rolled her eyes and huffed her bangs out of her eyes. "With his shoulder? Not bloody likely-"

"You can take it up with him, 'Ren," Fergus laughed. "In the meantime... what're you doing in the guest wing?"

"Oh, we had another visitor arrive this morning," Irene explained as Leliana emerged from the room. "This is Leliana, one of my companions from fighting the Blight-and my best friend. Leli, this is my brother Fergus."

"So _you're_ the big brother she wouldn't stop talking about," Leliana commented with a small chuckle as she dropped a half curtsy.

"Wouldn't stop talking about, huh?" Fergus smirked at Irene.

"Hey, I thought you were dead, remember?" Irene protested. "Now, brother dearest, I seem to have a hazy recollection of you promising to help me practice this morning."

"Blast, I was hoping you were too tired to remember..." Fergus muttered. "Can this count as part of my birthday present?"

"No. My birthday's not 'til next week. You'll have to think of something else for that," Irene grinned.

"You can help me plan a party for her if you like," Leliana offered coyly.

"Leli!" Irene groaned. "Don't give him any ideas!"

"Oh, no, I rather like the sound of this..." Fergus smiled at Leliana. "Tell you what, after my sister kicks my arse, we can talk."

Irene rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him as she headed down the hall.

)*( )*( )*(

Nathaniel had always been a light sleeper. And while that was definitely an asset sometimes, now was not one of those times. Almost every window in the keep was open, owing to the warm weather last night, which meant the ring of steel clashing on steel and the sound of Irene laughing made sleep impossible.

_I can't believe she remembered..._ Nathaniel smiled to himself as he sat up. Fergus' promise the night before had been made when Irene was so tired she was all but falling over. Apparently, her memory was better than they thought. He chuckled and ran one hand through his hair before pulling on a shirt and heading for the practice ring.

Irene was winning when he reached the split-rail fence, not that he'd expected otherwise after having seen her fight with that greatsword of hers. Nathaniel leaned against the fence, feeling his injured shoulder protest the idea of supporting weight.

Irene noticed him and he saw her smile widen. Fergus took advantage of the brief distraction, however, to knock Irene's blade out of its guard position and charge forward, nearly knocking his sister over.

Nathaniel smirked as Irene dragged her attention back to her brother. She spun out of the way of his charge and made sure she had a strong stance-with her back to Nathaniel, the archer couldn't help but notice. When Fergus came at her again, she sidestepped, swept his legs out from under him, and leveled the blunted training blade at his throat.

"Yield?" she laughed, breathing hard and laughing at the same time.

"I always do," Fergus sighed, grinning nonetheless as Irene helped him up. "Good job."

"Thanks." She drove the sword's point into the dirt before crossing to where Nathaniel was watching. "Hey, you." She leaned against the fence from the inside, the narrow rail not doing much to separate the two of them. "You almost cost me my match," she teased.

"Considering _you_ almost cost _me_ a great deal more in the Blackmarsh, how about we call it even?" Nathaniel returned with a quiet chuckle.

Irene shuddered at the memory. "Deal. But you still owe me a kiss."

"That I can do," he smiled and obliged. She tasted salty, the result of her duel with her brother-who was currently grinning like a madman and trying to keep his mouth shut.

They were still interrupted by a soft giggle. "Irene, aren't you going to introduce me?"

Irene pulled back from the kiss, a bare hint of pink visible under her tattoos. "Sorry, Lel. Nathaniel, this is Leliana, my best friend. Leliana, meet Nathaniel."

"I am very pleased to meet you." There was a knowing look in Leliana's eyes as she inclined her head in greeting that made Nathaniel suspect he'd already been the topic of conversation between her and Irene. Not that he minded; much as he and Fergus had talked about Irene the night before, he hardly had room to complain.

"And I as well." It was true; Irene had mentioned her bard friend a few times, usually in conjunction with memories of rambled conversations about shoes, which had Nathaniel very curious about this woman who could get_ Irene Cousland _to go on for hours about _shoes_.

Having put away both his and Irene's practice weapons, Fergus joined the three of them. "You should hear what she's-"

"Fergus, why don't you and Leli chat while I kidnap Nathaniel and get a proper good morning-sans audience?" Irene interrupted, ducking through the fence and tangling her fingers in Nathaniel's.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hiding something, Irene?"

"Um... No? C'mon, Nate." She tugged on his hand, but he didn't budge.

"I find myself incredibly curious what could possibly have you turning red," he whispered, pulling her close before looking up at Fergus.

"Leliana wants to have a party for Irene's birthday," Fergus enlightened him. "Irene, of course, is less than thrilled with the idea."

"I see." Nathaniel looked down at Irene, only to meet a rather desperate green gaze.

"Can you talk them out of it? For me?" she begged.

"What if I want to see you in a skirt?" he asked, the edge creeping into his voice making her turn even redder. Leliana shot the warrior a triumphant grin.

"You side with them, Nathaniel Howe, I swear I will kick you in the shins." Irene glared at him.

He knew she was serious, and considering she was wearing heavy leather boots and he was barefoot, that was something to be avoided. "I'm not taking sides. Not yet. Right now, I think you had a good idea; something about a proper good morning sans audience?"

"I- you-" Irene huffed irritably. "You are absolutely _impossible_, you know that?"

"So are you, love," he pointed out, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her away from her grinning best friend and smirking brother.

"Fine. Have your fun, you two, but stay away from those." Irene gestured toward the stack of weather-beaten barrels. "That's all we have left of Dworkin's explosives, and I'd hate to lose them... or either of you," she amended hastily when Fergus quicked an eyebrow at her.

Nathaniel chuckled. "Come on, Irene."

She was silent the entire way back into the keep, chewing her bottom lip furiously. Nathaniel was on the verge of asking her what was bothering her so much when she finally spoke. "D'you _really_ want to see me in a skirt?"

"Considering the last time I saw you in a dress you were thirteen, filthy, and shoving Thomas' face in the mud, yes, I would," he admitted with a wry smile, wrapping both arms around her waist and pulling her close, her back against his chest.

She turned to look at him. "Well... maybe, if you're very, very, _very_ persuasive... I'll see what I can do?" she offered, her tone somehow suggestive and hesitant.

Nathaniel pressed a kiss against her temple. "I'll get right on that, then," he murmured, letting her twist around so he could give her a proper kiss.

Her arms slid around his neck, and he could feeling her smiling as his grip on her waist tightened and she whispered, "This is what I call a proper good morning..."

Just for that, he kissed her again.

_A/N: Fergus is so fun to write. Just sayin' :D Oh, and translations for Leliana's 'Orlesian'(french): mon ami= my friend Absurdite=nonsense_


End file.
